Logs:Sangfroid

Sangfroid
cn: gaslighting
Dramatis Personae Fury, Lucien, Agent Coulson
In Absentia Sera, Matt Elie	2024-08-02 "If you gotta disappear again, I understand."
Location <NYC> S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ - Director's Office - Times Square
This corner office is big, bright and airy, which is not cheap to come by in midtown Manhattan. On one side, a huge glass desk sits in front of the floor-to-ceiling window looking out over Times Square. The far corner has a leather couch, a coffee table, a liquor cabinet and a sideboard, but the rest of the floor space was left open between bookshelves. Director Nicholas J. Fury is having a bit of a day, and the day is still young. His insistence on personally reviewing every credible report of extraterrestrial contact SHIELD investigates was a lot more manageable before first contact with the Brood and not-so-first contact with the Asgardians. Now it's not just conspiracy theorists and imaginative astronomers and underslept pilots -- everyone and their brother seems to have encountered an alien, to judge by the figurative mountain of paperwork on his desk. He's slouching uncharacteristically in his chair with a glass of Scotch close at hand, flicking through the cases to sift out the ones he actually needs to read from the ones that will be closed as soon as he gives his okay. It's probably rare enough that anything is happening in SHIELD headquarters without Fury knowing about it, but bureaucracy is slow and the fae are nimble. There might be a BOLO out on Lucien but here he is, striding into Fury's office with all the confidence of one who actually belongs there, though he certainly isn't dressed in the staid suits usually is in his position here -- a lightweight long-sleeved button down in a springlike plaid of celadon, sky, lilac, and white, gray linen slacks, and white leather sneakers. He looks very much the same and also very much not. His hair has barely grown, or maybe it hasn't grown at all, but there's a rouguishness to its tousle at odds with his previous perpetually fussy care. He's certainly no taller, no broader, but there's a more commanding presence to him all the same. It seems hardly possible that his eyes have gotten any greener but as they fix on Fury they seem almost luminous, alive with a passion and desire rarely visible in him in his offstage life. He's spun Fury's chair around, tipped the older man's face up for a fierce kiss, that desire given vivid echo in the brief touch. But, then, maybe it's all a trick of the light, because as he pulls back, steps back, his head dips in a far more familiar diffidence and he is just -- Lucien. Reserved, a studied calm in his expression, voice soft as ever. "You look tired." Probably, Fury was not expecting anyone to barge in unannounced -- even with the short list of those allowed in without appointment, he gets at least a heads up from his secretary. He is, however, always ready for someone to barge in unannounced, and so is the Desert Eagle under his desk. The gun is already in his hand by the time he's recognized his visitor, and by the time he's reaching to put it back Lucien has already turned his chair around and had his way with him. He manages to wrench his astonished expression into a proper scowl, but just as he's about to reply, the door slams open again -- there was a heads-up from his secretary this time, but he missed the blinking cue on his desk for some reason -- and he levels the pistol he was already holding at the next intruder. "Director Fury!" Agent Coulson is breathless from his no doubt relatively short dash. "Mister Tessier is -- oh!" He seems more embarrassed at his unnecessary announcement than concerned to have a 50-caliber handgun pointed at his head. "Hello, Mister Tessier. So sorry for the intrusion." And he ducks back out before Fury can scold or apologize or grouse. "Goddamn." Fury returns his stare to Lucien. "Where in tarnation you been? I've had the whole agency looking for you!" He slowly returns the gun to its hiding place without looking away. "You alright?" Lucien turns when the door opens, his mouth quirked up in a faint smile. Once Coulson has left again he is turning back to Fury, sinking back to prop himself against the edge of the large desk. "Another dimension," sounds oddly casual. "They would have had to search rather far. I think I've quite lost any barometer of what alright looks like. I am unharmed." "Another dimension." Fury echoes this skeptically -- but only his perfunctory, baseline level of skepticism. "Where's the rift? Even if it's closed now, we should send a team by and get some readings." He's stroking his beard thoughtfully now. "How long you been back? Really threw me when your kid sister turned up without you. Of course she wouldn't tell me shit. Tryna talk to any y'all when you don't wanna talk is like getting blood from a stone." He looks Lucien over, the worry etched into his grizzled brows slowly easing away. "Hell, I wouldn't know 'alright' if it smacked me upside the head, neither." He pushes out of his chair and pours another glass of Scotch at the sideboard, returning to place it in Lucien's hand. "What kind of place was this other dimension? I reckon your sister wouldn't've been so blasé if it was the same one she done come out of, but maybe that's underestimating the Tessier sangfroid again." His brows start furrowing again, less concerned now than speculative, but he does not voice whatever thought is behind this frown. "Oh, stones can be a good deal easier to draw blood from, if you have the right tools." Lucien's eyes are drifting to the window, expression unruffled in its placidity. "Just last night, I believe. It was not her universe, It --" His hand presses down harder at the edge of the glass desk, its corner biting in against a palm. "Time -- moved a bit differently, where we were. Everything, really. Was all. A bit different." His eyes lower and for a moment he seems almost startled to find the Scotch in his hand. There's a slow crinkling of warmth at his eyes, though, and he lifts it to take a small sip. "Thank you. And my apologies, I seem to have misplaced my phones somewhere along the way or I might have let you know last night. I -- should be back by tomorrow to catch up on my actual responsibilities, here, once I have sorted a few things." "Hah!" It's not exactly a laugh or a scoff, but Fury seems mollified by the implication he is not losing his touch for failing to get answers that a Tessier does not want to give. "Well, I sure would like to hear about it, but as long as there's no imminent danger, that can wait." He picks up his own glass and sips, his frown softening as he watches Lucien's expression shift. "You ain't got nothing to apologize for. You came back safe, that's what counts. The work can wait. Hey." He reaches out, hesitates, then pushes through the hesitation to trace his fingertips along Lucien's jaw, his touch loud with fear and exhaustion, pain and relief, suspicion and desire. "I thought I'd lost you again." His voice starts to grow hoarse and he covers it with a gruff laugh. "I damn near kicked down your brother's door, when you first went missing." Lucien tenses reflexively, jaw tighter under Fury's touch. He takes a slow breath, muscles unclenching on a gradual exhale. It takes him another breath to properly relax, head turning towards Fury's hand and his lips brushing against the older man's calloused hand. "I am touched. I am not used to inspiring such feats of chivalry." His other hand lifts, curls around the back of Fury's head to pull him in for another kiss -- soft, this time. "Gods, it felt like a lifetime, but I -- You didn't lose me." Fury relinquishes his glass and presses into the kiss, not quite pinning Lucien to the side of the desk, though it's certainly an overture in that direction. He glances at the door, which sends a flutter of discomfort through the heady mixture of thrill and solace in his mind, but he does not pull away. "I'd've done more than just kick down the door to get you back. Glad it didn't come to that." There's discomfort of a different kind stirring behind these words, and he pushes it aside to kiss Lucien again, harder. "Are you -- you got anything direly needs sorted?" His voice is low and sultry and just a little breathless. "Could take the rest of the day and give you a hand. Ain't gon' let you go so easy this time." "Mmm. It is pleasant to know, all the same. You do so know how to romance a man, Director Fury." Though the laugh that hums soft in Lucien's words might be teasing, the shattering surge of passion that floods across with his next hungry kiss feels very much sincere. This time he doesn't break it off, fingers pressing harder at the back of Fury's head, his other arm sliding firm around his lover's waist. "Stay with me." His words come murmured breathy in between kisses that feel themselves increasingly dire in need. Fury does pin Lucien back against his desk, now. That surge of passion draws a low noise from him that he stifles against his lover's lips. "Ionno about no romance, but I'm here." He curls an arm around Lucien, lifts him up to set him on the edge of the desk, and pulls back for a moment to just look the younger man over again. Just out of Lucien's sight, his fingers tap out a pattern on the desk's touch surface, and it chimes softly in acknowledgement. "I ain't goin' nowhere." He kisses Lucien's neck and murmurs against his collar bone. "Don't you go an' leave again." --- Lucien has not quite bothered getting most his clothes back on, just yet. He has pulled his trunks back up, slacks in a puddle on the floor below, and though his shirt is in his hands he doesn't seem in a hurry to pull it back on. Maybe because he's very much still catching his breath where he's aesthetically draped across the desk, and the touch of his skin echoes the fierce joy that is rippling through him in waves. "I really do have a pile of errands," he's saying with a light amusement, "though it is endlessly tempting to just whisk you back home for round three." Fury has got his trousers back on but not yet his shirt, the knotted scars he's accumulated over many decades on full display. "Shit, I'll drive you around to your errands." Maybe he shouldn't be taking a slug of whisky as he offers? He does pointedly put his glass down after, if only to run his calloused hand down the inside of Lucien's thigh. His lust is banked now though not gone, and all his aches, weariness, and anxiety are still softened by fading euphoria. "We can go back your place after for as many rounds as you like." "I suppose one day I should actually bother to get my car back, but --" Lucien shivers, momentarily luxuriating in the caress, but he shutters the desire that wants to spike again. Stows it for later as he sits up, shoulders rolling in a slow stretch. Now that he is not on his back it's easier to see the light tracery of scars down his shoulderblades -- they'd be striking enough as-is given the almost complete lack of any other scarring anywhere on his body but are all the moreso for their odd patterning, tessellated like a layered fringe of leaves. "You are quite sure I wouldn't be pulling you from anything critical? I could use the company and dearly could use the saved time." Fury goes momentarily still when Lucien sits up, then forces himself into motion again, but the reach of his hand is hesitant. His fingertips brush gently over leafy veins of scarring on Lucien's back, the touch breathing distant fear and confusion. "I done already canceled my appointments for the rest of the day, but now I'm not sure we should be running errands." He turns Lucien toward him, fixes him with a steady eye. "Look, I know I ain't always been the most understanding and supportive...man." He sounds tempted to stop there, but musters his courage and goes on. "But your ma talked some sense into me. I know you've been going through hell, I know you need all of us on your side, and I'm here for you now." He cups Lucien's cheek gently. "Let us help." Lucien has gone reflexively slightly tense at the touch to his back, though this seems more a physical than emotional discomfort -- there's no pain but there's a strange and unplaceable twinge like some muscle is trying and failing to flex. "We should definitely be running errands," he says with a small grimace, head bopping lightly against Fury's shoulder, "I am sure none of my piles of work have gotten any smaller in the past days and I need to replace my phone before everything melts down." Maybe he was going to pull back, put his shirt back on, but he freezes at Fury's words. Very, very briefly, and the hitch would hardly be noticeable if not for the sharp cold spike of dread that wrenches through him. It's gone in a flash, too, replaced by -- nothing, really, just the warm and uncharacteristically marred surface of Lucien's skin. He's breathing slowly, cheek pressing into Fury's palm. "She's a very persuasive woman." Fury comes that much more alert at even that brief cold dread. "Hey now." If he knows horses, this is probably the voice he would use to sooth a spooked one, and to his credit he is more or less as calm as he sounds. "She is persuasive and mothers can be a bit overbearing, but she not my ma. I heard her out and drew my own conclusions, and I don't think any less of you, aight?" His hand smooths down Lucien's back and drops away, the other lingering on the younger man's cheek. "If the errands can't wait, I'll run 'em with you. But maybe along the way we come up with a safety plan." An aching concern floods him and he kisses Lucien gently before pulling away to pick up his discarded shirt. "I won't let nothing bad happen to you." "I know I am hardly as practiced at this kind of thing as you, but my safety plan," Lucien replies, very softly as he tugs his shirt back on and slips off the desk to grab his pants, "does not include the person who had me killed." He doesn't sound angry, doesn't feel angry, when he kisses Fury back. There's an faltering in his hands, and his first pass at buttoning his shirt ends with the buttons misaligned; his voice, though, is extremely steady. "What did she say to you?" Fury's expression tightens. "I'm not tryna drag you through all that right now, this ain't therapy." He shakes his head. "There's a lot of reasons folks can get outta step with reality, no shame in it. Hell, you was just off in a whole other world for God knows how long, that's got to be disorienting." He buttons his own shirt, quick and precise, then slips into his concealed carry harness. "But I won't leave you alone with neither of them. I may not have literally kicked your brother door down, but I did depower him, and put the fear of me in him while I was at it." This last definitely sounds like hyperbolic bluster, but Fury is sticking to his guns as he checks his guns and returns them to his holsters. "I'll make sure he gives you all the space you need." Lucien is working his way carefully through the shirt buttons a second time, his fingers running down the placket lightly to check his work. "It was a -- long time. For most of it I was not sure I would return at all, and -- then not sure how much the world might have moved on without me." He's quicker about buttoning his pants, fastening his belt. For a moment his eyes narrow in his sneakers like he mildly resents this last piece of Dressing, and he tugs them on without untying them. "I had no frame of reference. For what time might have passed. I admit my list was passing brief, of those people I thought might still..." This trails off into nowhere, and he's looking down at his shoes, at a small dent in the back of his sneakers he has to wiggle out with a finger where his heel has pressed it down. He stands, and kisses Fury again, soft and lingering, his thumb drawn slow along the older man's cheek as he steps back. "I love you, Director Fury. I think I do need some space, right now. I can call myself a taxi." Fury resumes his footwear with enviable ease -- his combat boots have a zipper on the inside. "Ionno if this makes you feel better at all, but you weren't gone all that long in the scheme of things. I did my part downplaying that on account of I didn't want to see your reputation damaged any more than it already was, especially when we put together you'd gone off with your kid sister." His eye ticks down, then away when he presumably recognizes Lucien is struggling with his sneaker. "Of them what knew you was missing, I can't really speak for no one else, but your ma, your big brother, and Barton were awful worried, anyhow. That kid sister too, though you don't gotta tell her I saw through her. Got a decent poker face on her, for a bougie little white girl." He eases into the last kiss, surrenders for just a moment to the deep ache of the affection in his chest. The declaration of love sends a reflexive jolt of tension through him, and he turns away to root through a desk drawer. "I realize you still got to get your own phone situation sorted out, but in the meantime..." He comes out with a smartphone with an earpiece, cable, and adapter vacuum-sealed in heavy gauge plastic that's been neatly sharpied with a string of letters and numbers. "There's a whole burner identity in there with aged and prepaid accounts, anonymization tools, the whole nine yards and another meter to boot. If you gotta disappear again, I understand." As he presses the package into Lucien's hands the brush of his skin comes with a dizzy freefall terror and a desperate hope, too. "But my number's in there, too. Take care, Mister Tessier." Lucien takes the phone, the accessories, the packet, pocketing the first and clutching the latter close to his chest. His hand lingers a moment on Fury's, spilling grief and terror together with his fierce and determined love. "Thank you, Director Fury." His head dips, small, and he slips quietly back out.